


glass slipper gone

by poalimal



Series: 🏴☠️ tropes ahoy! R76 edition 🏴☠️ [5]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ableism, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Cinderella Elements, Depression, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Racism, Reversal of Fortune
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25655725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: The Prince is having a ball, and Gabriel is forced to attend.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: 🏴☠️ tropes ahoy! R76 edition 🏴☠️ [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759780
Comments: 2
Kudos: 31





	glass slipper gone

_This is the face of the man who will love you most, said his godmother. Look at this face, and remember it well. This man who will be King, shall love you and then leave you all alone_.

* * *

The Prince is having a ball, and Gabriel is forced to attend: his gawky stepsister requires a chaperone - and a friendly face. 

Rachel is positively _miserable_ in the carriage ride over. 'I did not think Mother would hear me and force you to go,' she says, wiping away her tears, 'oh! she is so beastly to you, brother, and I do not understand why.'

In all the world, Rachel is the only person now that Gabriel can call friend, and for some reason she considers him her family. If Gabriel had not studied her so well for malice, he might think her ignorance all some long cruel act meant to punish him. But no, she has no head for wickedness. To her, it does not matter that Gabriel's late mother was fair, while her own mother is pale; and so his ongoing maltreatment remains an utter mystery to her.

In truth Gabriel sometimes wants to thrash her for being so naive - but not tonight. Tonight he is just going to enjoy fading into the background and eating castle fare. It will be a good night, he thinks.

He is not allowed through the front entrance. 'Outside servants and attendants,' he is told, 'must enter through the back.'

Gabriel does not protest. He does not look at Rachel - he cannot look at her right now - he lowers his head and steps out of line. He follows two girls down a very long set of stairs at the side of the castle, away from the pale crowd. His hand slides down the cool blue brick as he watches them - their shoulders and voices slowly come up, the further they descend. They laugh and clutch at each other's arms, very clearly excited. Is working in the castle so wonderful? Gabriel's curiosity eats up his grey cloud. He hops over the last broken step at the bottom of the stair and turns a corner into a cobbled little courtyard. 

What he sees there stops him short. People of all ages swing each other round in the centre of the yard, alight from rosy lanterns and flame, laughing gaily in the summer heat, their clothing plain and worn and whirling well. Someone beautiful stands tall on a stool in the corner and sings out a song: ' _The stars doth shine_ / _and so do you_ / _be quick my love_ / _and do-si-do!_ ' A man plays the fiddle smartly, a laughing child hanging off his back, while a woman his mirror works away at the drums. Beside them a short man plays the pan so sweet, it sings like a bell.

A group of grey-haired elders sit together playing stones at a table. They look up briefly when he and the giggling girls come in, but soon return to their game. Beneath the trees beside them, another table is swallowed up by food and drink: chana aloo and baked fish-fly, geera pork and pelau, steamed bow and banku, pepperpot, plaintain and mac-pie, pickled cabbage and cucumber, okro stew and dhal puri. The pitchers are full with pink-red hibiscus - something else sweet and sugary, with cokon pulp and mango - the water flowing heavy like rum - the rum flowing fresh like water.

An auntie sees him hovering, at odds, round the edges of them all. 'Well, don't just stand there!' she says, laughing, 'come!, come! You have no master here.'

'I don't understand,' says Gabriel. 'I thought they sent us back here to work?'

'Well, that's what they say,' says Auntie, shrugging, 'but most castle servants won't work with the likes of you and me. They don't mind what we do back here, s'long as we aren't eyesores in their precious ballroom.' 

Oh - eyesores? Gabriel's throat gets a funny burning feeling inside of it. 

'Don't waste the night feeling lousy, love,' says Auntie, patting him roughly on the shoulder, 'there's time enough for that later. Now go - eat! drink! dance!'

So Gabriel eats as if escaping a hole - he drinks as if away from a desert - he dances as if meeting his feet. He makes a very good many friends. He enjoys himself very much. 

He hides behind the trees and cries. There is no shame in crying, he knows. The only shame is in pretending you don't have to. His mother said so all the time - especially near the end.

How he _misses_ her. He has not missed her like this in years. She would've loved it here, tonight.

But then - he would've been up at the ball, if she were still alive.

He lets out the last of his tears, sighing shakily, the grey cloud much smaller.

It is then that a voice comes down from the stars and says, 'Are you alright?'

Gabriel glares up at the sky. 'Who's there?' he demands, wiping his face roughly. He stares round at the mint grass and lowvine - the sunflies and gricks all glowing blue - and he knows that he is alone.

'Ah,' says the voice, 'I am no one, really - I just wanted to make sure you were alright.'

Gabriel thinks of his godmother Ilora, who heard voices from the future as clear as the stars, and drew the words that they said. The day his mother died, Ilora followed one such voice straight into the sea. Her fortunes never came true.

'If you are from the future, or a voice in my head,' Gabriel says warily, 'I am not interested, very, thank you.'

'I am not from the future,' says the voice, 'and I do not think I am just in your head. But I suppose I have no way of proving that.'

'Show yourself to me,' Gabriel demands, staring above his head, 'and let me see if I have dreamed you.'

The branches rustle above him - and a face pops out, staring at him through the dark leaves, freckled and tan and smiling down shy. 

Gabriel recognises him at once and recoils. 'What does the wicked Prince of this rotten country want with me?' he says sharply.

The Prince looks surprised - he scales down the trunk of the tree in a lick and leaps to his feet beside Gabriel. He is dressed in very fine, very plain clothing. Oh, why in hell isn't he up at his ball? The Prince looks down at him curiously, a touch of daze in his dark blue eyes. 

'Have I perhaps dreamed _you_?' says the Prince. 'You call me wicked - do you know me?' Oh, his voice! He is not handsome, particularly - but his _voice_. And those arms--

No! Not even fate shall be Gabriel's master here. 'We do not know each other,' he says quickly, holding his palms in front of him like a shield, 'we cannot know each other. Your--Sire. Highness. Your Highness! And, and, you are not allowed to fall in love with me!'

There! he thinks to himself wildly, I have said it aloud - he will think me mad - I have stopped it all!

The Prince's eyes glint, and he crouches to his feet. Gabriel stares at him helplessly, caught by the look in his eyes. Oh, he is not handsome, he reminds himself, swallowing, he is not handsome--

'I have never made much bother,' says the Prince, 'about what I am allowed to do.'

* * *

_This man who will be King, shall love you and then leave you all alone_ , _said his godmother._ _And you shall never recover from his death, nor love any other - but you shall wear his crown well._


End file.
